Page 13 of A Lethal Game of Trust
Dom slowly turned to face me with the most wicked of grins, his hand pressing on the base of my neck, anchoring me to the wall. “There’s my Leonie.” He watched me swallow. “You’re pretty when you’re silent. Sometimes, you ruin it with your mouth.”
“Not with my fist?” I asked. His cheek was red. It must have stung. I couldn’t imagine the ruthless Dominic Belov feeling pain.
His lips twitched. “Oh no, I enjoyed that. As much as I know I could enjoy your mouth, especially if you’re as enthusiastic as you say.”
“You’re drunk,” I argued, placing my hand over his. “I wish you’d fuck off again. Go back to myroom and choke on your drunken vomit.”
His hand pressed further into me, and his tongue ran over his bottom lip. His eyes roamed my face. “You missed me,” he said as if he realised it there and then. “You’ve missed me.”
“Like a hole in the head.”
He laughed once, the noise vibrating through me from his hand. “You did, though. You missed me. You’re still bitter. You still care.”
Still bitter that as soon as my dad’s body was cold, he went from being my best friend to a complete stranger? Practically overnight?
“Now, why the hell would I care? We’re not friends.”
His lips stretched into a smile and my body pushed against his hold to get closer. For years as teenagers, I had fantasised about what it would be like to kiss him.
This was the closest I had come to him in a decade.
“Tell me, Leonie, how long have you wanted to fuck me?”
I snorted in the most unladylike way, pressing back into the wall. “You’ve got to be joking me.”
“Ask me to stop touching you,” he said, his lips by my ear. His breath travelled right down my spine, my body responding involuntarily between my thighs. “You think I don’t notice how your thighs are pressed together? How your cheeks are flushed? How you’re fucking breathing?”
“I’m tipsy, hence the blush. You’re holding my throat, hence the breathing.”
He flexed his hands, releasing the tiny pressure. He wasn’t even holding me, just resting his palm there.
“Then move my hand.”
I wrapped my fingers around his, intending to rip them away from my skin. Instead, I lifted them further up to restfully around my neck and curled his fingers around me, a light choke. I wanted harder.
His eyes flickered from mine to our hands and back. “Oh, Leo,” he said, his voice husky. “Oh, I’m going to have fun with you.”
Every part of me was on fire, eyes on his dark hazel ones. His playful smile, I wanted to kiss it. I wanted to own it, bite it, smother it.
But this was Dominic. He couldn’t be trusted with anything. Even my body.
He ran the tip of his nose up my neck, breathing me in before nipping at my skin. “I want to pound out every thought of him from your head. I want us to take our anger out on each other.”
How many teenage fantasies of mine would I be making a reality if we did this?All of them. Every fantasy I had since I was thirteen somehow referred to him.
“Have men worshipped you or only fucked you?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. I’d been loved. I was sure of it.
“There’s a difference between a man who can make you come and one that can leave you gasping, tears in your eyes, begging for more and less at the same time,” he purred in my ear.
My underwear suddenly felt too tight, too restrictive.
“I’d have you sobbing, Leo.”
Yes.
Yes, please.
